Coming Home
by JUSTxAxFRIENDLYxPSYCHO
Summary: "...And so, Harry met L." This series of one-shots are UNCONNECTED, but all centered around the idea of Harry and L. I'm changing the rating to M, to be safe. FYI.
1. Chapter 1

**Coming Home**

**Prompt: **"Serendipity"; Harry Potter + Death Note mash-up; drabble/vignette style

**Premise: **...And so, Harry met L.

**Warning: **Altered Time-Line (adult!L and child!Harry)

**These Vignette-style stories are a means to work through a severe case of Fandom Burn-out. I am not abandoning my fics, thus far, but need a break from Sherlock and The Avengers cross-overs, which is where the idea for these shorts was born. Death Note + Harry Potter do not belong to me.**

. . . . .

As the snow fell, the world fell silent.

He watched, eyes fixed on blinding white, as the sky seemingly collapsed on the world below, large flakes of white indescribable from the sky above. A shiver wracked his body, and he tugged the coat closer, burying his frozen nose in the thin, ratty scarf wound loosely around his neck.

Tiny, gloved hands brushed at his mop of dark hair, brushing away the white clinging to the tips, trailing frozen trails down his neck as it melted. He huffed, his breath blooming in front of his face in curling cloud. Bright eyes blinked, wincing as melting snow dripped into his eyes, winding down his pale cheeks like tears.

The child crouched, huddled against the cold, his back resting against aging brick. For an endless stretch, he sat there, staring out into the frozen world, listening to the slosh of tires carefully making their way through snow clogged streets.

He was too cold. He didn't think he could move.

Slowly, a car pulled to a stop in front of his stretch of sidewalk. It was one of those sleek, fancy cars his aunt and uncle had so admired. He watched as the rear door near him swung open, and a head peered around the frame to peer out at him. A mop of hair, just as dark and messy as his, sat atop a pale face, with dark, heavy-set eyes.

"Hello, there."

His voice caught, nothing more than a whisper as he answered the vague greeting. "Hi."

"Aren't you cold?"

If the strange man, crouching on his seat, staring at him, could see his expression, he was sure he'd see the drab expression plain as day on his face. Of course he was cold. It was snowing, and he was stuck outside. Him being cold wasn't in question. The question was, who was this strange man, and what did he want from him?

The strange man stared toward the front of the car, murmuring too low for him to hear. After a moment, he reluctantly turned back, almost...pouting...as he lifted what looked like a plate of cake, feebly holding it out in his direction. "Would you like something to eat?"

He shook his head, his hair flying about his face. His nose felt funny, numb, as he wrinkled it in distaste. He had never had cake...his aunt and uncle wouldn't have let him...so he couldn't say if he'd like it. The man frowned, clutching his plate to his chest, and started picking at the cake, looking almost offended at his distaste.

"More for me, then."

A sigh built up in his chest, and dull eyes, old for his age, peered out from his dark fringe. "What do you want?"

"Well, mostly to get you out of the cold."

"...and what else?"

The man hummed, distracted by his cake. "No plans after that. Why?"

He shrugged tightly, fighting a losing battle against the cold seeping into his bones. With a heave of frozen limbs, he stumbled towards the car. Lingering just outside the car, wary eyes took in the man in front of him, from his messy hair, to his bare feet, toes absently curling against the fancy leather.

For a long moment, endlessly dark eyes met clear, brilliant green. He watched as a thumb slowly migrated to the man's pale lips, bright teeth digging into it as he stared, seeming to read a million and one things in his face.

Harry sighed a very adult, put upon sigh and climbed into the backseat, slowly shutting the door behind him. The man, with his wide, dark eyes, grinned at him.

...and so, Harry met L.

{end}

**This was written in under 5 minutes, under the influence of wine, so is unedited/unbeta'd. So, massive errors or blatantly OOC moments are totally my fault. **

**Also, anyone who wants to see more Death Note + Harry Potter centric vignettes can PM me. I will accept Prompts, within reason: NO rape-centric OR sexualized underage prompts, please. I'd HOPE this goes without saying, but one never knows.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Lightning Bug**

**Prompt: **"Light in the Darkness"; one-shot

**Premise: **"...and so, Harry became Kira."

This series of one-shots are UNCONNECTED, but all centered around the idea of Harry and L.

**Warning: **A bit of an alternate reality schtick here, with a "Harry is [enter character name]" scenario.

.. .. ..

The wail of the sirens rang, long and loud, through the quiet neighborhood, the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulances casting strange, eerie shadows on the otherwise empty streets. One by one, lights flickered to life behind curtained windows.

Fabric rustled as numerous hands pulled the curtains away from their windows to peer outside, to see what was happening, without ever having to leave the safety of their homes. If they just looked, if they didn't go outside, didn't confront it, then the reality of the situation, of something being so very wrong, wasn't real, right?

Inspector Soichirou Yagami sighed, looking aggrieved, as his gaze met those of his victims' neighbors, who all seemed all too happy to pry, but not actually be of any help. That was the sad state of the world, these days, or so it seemed.

A care-worn hand dragged down a haggard face, tugging at dark hair that was already starting to gray. Not even 32, and already he felt like an old man. This job, as much as he loved having a hand in bringing criminals to justice, was not a job for just anyone. Sometimes, it broke his heart.

Like now.

The latest victims in a string of strange, seemingly unsolvable cases: Potter James and Lily, British ex-pats who'd settled down in the neighborhood just after their son, name unlisted, was born. He looked at the dates. Christ, the boy couldn't be more than eighteen months old, and already he'd come to face with monsters, because there was no mistake...whoever had done this, was doing this to others, was a true monster, quite unlike any found in any storybook.

Soichirou watched with solemn eyes as the covered gurneys were rolled out of the quaint, little house...one, by one. Then came the medic, carrying a sniveling bundle of squirming, terrified baby boy. His arms reached out for the baby before he realized he was moving towards the pitiful duo.

"Let me take him."

The medic blinked tiredly, his expression more bored than anything. "You sure, sir?"

Soichirou nodded solemnly, his dark eyes locked on the tiny figure in his arms. A tiny face was scrunched up unhappily, but the baby didn't do more than whimper his distress...and no wonder. Soichirou rubbed a finger gently down the pale forehead, making sure not to run over the livid looking cut on the baby's face. Christ, they'd even cut a damn lightning bolt in a baby's head.

Whoever could do such a thing to a child was monstrous, indeed.

Calloused fingers gently brushed through wispy auburn locks, til little sobs became tiny hiccups, and finally, the child blinked open wide, brown eyes. Such a tiny little thing, he was...and, from what he'd seen of the two victims, the child looked like his mother, but with his father's eyes. Thick, dark lashes blinked, and a fat tear dripped down a flushed, baby-soft cheek.

Soichirou frowned, absently wiping away a tear. "Quiet now, little lightning bug. I have you...you're safe."

The baby hiccuped, blinking bright eyes up at him. It was...well, it was like coming home, looking into that small face. Maybe all those times he'd been called soft was right...maybe he was too kind for the work he did, but...he could easily see himself bending over backwards to make this tiny little creature smile.

Sachiko-chan would probably need a bit of convincing, but Soichirou had every confidence that one look at the child in his arms would convince her. She, after all, always said how much she wanted a child...

Dark eyes peered down into honey-brown, watery from tears.

Poor lightning bug...

Huh...lightning bug...

...light?

He frowned, considering the child in his arms as the baby reached a chubby hand towards his face, little fingers scratching at his chin. "...Raito?"

Yes. That might just suit this little one perfectly.

[end]

**Prompts accepted. Please keep it as simplified as possible. I am trying for vignette to short story/one-shot length responses for this collection. Thanks for the Faves/Follows. Right now, I am working from my own prompts. I'm not sure when those will dry up, so if you like what you see here, PLEASE submit prompts.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Death and Beyond**

**Foreword: **This is going to be a little different than the usual. Thanks to my brain and the wonderful possibilities offered up by _Animelover5008's _prompt, I will be writing TWO versions of the outcome of said prompt (mentioned below). The SECOND one, hopefully, will be more in line with the request. As for THIS one, well. This is just my brain grabbing onto the idea and running with it.

**BASED on a Prompt by ****_Animelover5008: _**"It would be cool if Harry came to the orphanage and met L."

**Premise: **_"__...and so, B was Born."_

**Warning: **For those of you who know who Beyond Birthday is, no warning needed. For those of you who don't, well...let's just call him the Moriarty to L's Sherlock, shall we? Also...this one is a fair bit longer than the others. **Also, UNBETA'd**

.. .. ..

Lily bit back a scream, clutching Harry closer to her chest as she hurried down the hall toward her son's nursery. She could hear the sound of screams, of spells scarring the walls of her home, of her husband struggling, but she had to ignore it. She had to. Turning back now meant putting her child in the line of fire, and that was something she was not willing to do. Not even for her husband's sake.

She choked, feeling the urge to be sick fighting with her need to get them to safety. Ignore it. Ignore it. You'll be fine, just ignore it...for now. Her stomach clenched, hot, tight, and roiling with acid. She wanted to say she felt sick over the loss of her husband...

...well, she did, but that wasn't what was really the matter. The matter was what was tucked into a hidden wall panel in her son's nursery. The matter was what she'd stolen, without remorse, the day she left the Unspeakables, the day she learned her son could be in danger.

The Head of her department, Augustus Rookwood, had called it the Death Ledger. Lily had rolled her eyes at him for that. Only he could take a look at the innocuous little notebook, clearly stamped with the words "Death Note," and turn it into something pretentious. That wasn't the point, though. The point was that she'd taken it, hiding it from everyone—from Sirius, from Remus, from James—on the off-chance she'd need it.

Lily had hoped she wouldn't need it...hoped that one of her friends wasn't the traitor...but she was a realist. War was ugly. It was brutal, and bloody, and base. It took your love, your hope, your dreams of the future, and twisted them until they were but shadows of their former selves.

Tears dripped down her tears, and she winced at the sounds of pain, of suffering, coming from James, even as she carefully set Harry down in his crib. "Mama loves you, baby."

She pressed a tear-slicked kiss to her son's forehead, running one shaking hand through his hair, before dashing to the trick wall panel. A quick press, and the dust-covered book was finally in her hands. Her hands shook as she carefully cut into her palm with her wand, her trembling fingers slowly spelling out her demise, and that of the man who'd plagued the world with his evil for so long.

"The Dark Wizard, born Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort confronts Lily Potter, and dies in the backlash of his own spell."

Lily sighed, her heart feeling tight in her chest. There. She may not live to see tomorrow, but she was damn sure taking that bastard Voldemort down with her. A crash downstairs, then silence.

"God, James...I'm so sorry."

Her eyes stung with tears as the ran down her face in messy streams. Slowly, she rose to her feet, stumbling her way to her son's crib. Harry was sitting quietly on his mattress, his breath coming out in little hiccups of distress. Lily smiled down at her baby. Everything for him...even if it damned her, she'd make the same choice, use this weapon of death, without regret.

A rush of feet on the stairs, and Lily froze, her eyes darting down to the Death Note. One thing was for sure...those monsters would not get their hands on this. Quickly, she pulled away the neck of her son's pale blue onesie, stuffing the Death Note down his front. That, at least, would keep it safe...for now.

.. .. ..

Petunia Dursley sneered down at her nephew, blinking teary green eyes up at her from his place nestled in his pitiful little basket. Tiny arms rose in a heart-felt plea to be held, and she scoffed. There was no way that she'd ever touch that...that...thing, if she could help it. With a sniff of disgust, she carried the little basket down her halls, quickly tucking it away in the cupboard under the stairs.

She frowned, taking in the little basket tucked in next to the broom and mop. That wouldn't do. She'd have to move her cleaning supplies, at least. Heaven knows the little brat would probably cry endlessly otherwise. That was for later, though...for now, she needed to figure out just what she and her thankfully normal family were going to do about this, how they were going to handle their unwanted burden.

The blonde sneered one last time at the child, shutting the door firmly behind her, cutting off the sound of soft, pleading whimpers coming from her nephew.

Harry sniffled, little shoulders shaking with tears. He'd never been a quiet baby, one to hold back the sounds of his distress, but this was different. The child, touched with death, was different. Wide, green eyes peered up into the blackness of his new room, feeling the rough scratch of the notebook tucked against his stomach.

Tiny hands tugged at his onesie, popping one, two, snaps loose, and the Death Note slipped out, falling behind a shelf, out of sight of his new guardians.

.. .. ..

Harry stared at the being in front of him, leering in dismay down at him. "Damn it. Yer too young, kid."

"For what, exactly?"

A smile full of razor teeth, wide as a Cheshire cat's, stretched the corpse-pale face. "Fer that."

One long, skeletal finger pointed down at the notebook clutched in his hand. Both ignored the sound of Petunia, wailing in distress. Harry blinked, staring down at his notebook, confused. He was too young for...a notebook? Really?

Just because he was five didn't mean he was dumb...quite the opposite was true, in his case, and said as much to the Creature.

A nasty chuckle was his only response. "Nah, kid...we're not s'posed to deal with kids yer age."

"...we?"

Harry frowned, biting back annoyance as the Creature only grinned at him, not saying anything more.

Green met glowing, shimmering red...red that seemed to see more than they let on, more than his human brain could comprehend. Slowly, a matching grin stretched the young genius' face.

"I'll make you a deal, Creature?"

Bloody eyes gleamed, teeth flashing like scythes in the dark. "Oh..?"

"I'll give you back your book...if you give me your eyes."

For a moment, there was silence, and then the Creature grinned. "_Hyuk hyuk hyuk_...I like you, human."

Harry was unmoved by the sentiment. It was, in his experience of the world, pointless and more than not likely to disappoint. "Do we have a deal, Creature."

"Yeah, sure...why not."

Slowly, a skeletal hand, cold as the grave, brushed over his eyes. Harry's breath caught, his heart pounding as Death seemed to whisper over him, murmuring all sorts of strange, dark promises of what he was, what he could _become_.

Harry blinked his eyes, brilliant green shimmering like a blood soaked ruby, before the glow vanished, leaving behind eyes that were the same as before, but more..._more_.

There was a tug, and the Creature lifted his hand, a tendril of writhing dark tangled in his fingers. Harry frowned, staring at the sentient blackness. The Creature merely leered, lifting his hand to shove the writhing dark down his gaping mouth, swallowing lewdly around his fingers.

He wasn't squeamish, but Harry knew better than to ask.

.. .. ..

He stared at her grave, and felt nothing. Harry had known his aunt's time was coming. The numbers...her numbers...had told him so, from the first time he saw them, drifting above her head like invisible smoke. Losing Dudley had been bad enough...and how Harry had enjoyed taking him and that odious Piers out with his now-lost notebook...but his uncle. Yes. That had been his final masterpiece, before the Creature came, before he had his Eyes.

A hand fell to his shoulder, and Harry looked up, blinking at the Man Who Lied. He looked nice enough, he supposed, but he was a liar. His mouth said "James Waller," but Harry's Eyes saw "Quillsh Wammy." Either way, it didn't matter. It wasn't like Harry had told the truth, either.

Beyond Birthday, indeed. The man must truly lead an interesting life if he took his words at face value.

"Let's go, child."

Harry—well, Beyond, now, he supposed—shrugged, letting the Lying Man lead him to his car. It was the type of car his uncle would have salivated over, but he didn't care much for it. All he cared about was the strawberry jam pastie sitting on a tiny little plate in the backseat. Thin fingers pulled apart the sugary crust, jamming sticky, strawberry coated fingers into his mouth. Ah, bliss.

He ignored the look the Lying Man gave him. After all, why should he care what a liar thought?

.. .. ..

Beyond blinked, momentarily stunned at the sight of the other boy. He sat crouched, his bare toes digging into the chair. Baggy clothes hung off his skinny form, and messy dark hair, so much like his, shaded pale eyes.

"B, meet L."

L blinked placidly at him, not bothering to say hello. Green eyes wandered to the numbers drifting lazily over the boy's head, taking in the whispy "L Lawliet" tangling and drifting amongst boy's life line.

Beyond smiled, holding back the urge to leer at the boy flinched, subtly. "Pleasure to meet you, Lawlipop!"

L stared, and B laughed.

[end]

**Quick Afterword on the Death Note:**

For those of you unfamiliar with the extensive list of canon rules surrounding use of the Death Note, I wanted to clarify a few points.

1\. Death Notes CAN be used by their owners to kill themselves, so Lily's use of it was valid.

2\. Death Note ownership will be passed on to the person holding the notebook when the current owner dies, thus Harry inheriting it.

3\. Death Notes are not technically supposed to be handed over to humans under the age of 6. In this case, I am interpreting it to mean they are not supposed to be owned, full stop, by humans under that age, which is why I made the Shinigami so agreeable to making a bargain with young Harry. The kid wasn't supposed to even have the thing, so the best way to get it out of his hands was to take the deal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cake Wars**

**Prompt by ****_Animelover5008_****: **"I think it would be cool if Harry came to the orphanage and met L." This is my SECOND entry for this prompt, and is hopefully more in line with what the reviewer was hoping for.

**Premise: **_"__In which L discovers a rival...in cake."_

**Warnings: **Erm...L is really quite possessive of his cake. Also, like the rest of these prompt responses, are **UNBETA'd**

.. .. ..

L glared at the interloper, his pale eyes wide and unblinking. The boy blinked at him, his green eyes bright behind his oversized glasses...glasses that made him look like a scruffy little owlet. L fucking hated him.

The boy...the-the _thief..._stared at him, stupidly confused, as L's eyes locked on the lips smeared with pale pink frosting. The smell of sugar, of juicy strawberries and succulent cake, hovered around the boy like a cloud. His fingers clenched tightly in his jeans, his toes digging violently into his seat, as he watched the boy lift his fork from his—_L's_—plate, a generous bite of cake tangling off the end.

L's gray eyes widened, dismay twisting his lips, as the boy bit through a particular juicy strawberry, moaning happily.

Honestly, he couldn't see how Watari could dare call this brat a genius. L knew he was about as subtle as a blow to the head, and still the boy kept on stealing bite after bite of _his_ cake, off of _his_ plate. It was monstrous, it was cruel...

...and the damn kid seemed oblivious to his slight.

Green eyes locked with his pale gray, both pairs equally startling in pale faces topped with mops of messy black. L was sure, if he was prone to fancy, he could have imagined this boy, this little hooligan, as his evil twin. Only someone with a mind bent towards crime, and bloodshed, and evil could do this to him.

L's fingers clenched around his fork as he fought back the urge to stab at the thief's hand. Bite by bite, his cake was being stolen from him, and Watari was just...just...smiling, and not doing anything, and he was not happy. At all.

Finally, the boy blinked, green eyes staring down at the mess he'd made of L's poor cake. Finally—finally—a flush of shame spread across his cheeks. "I'm sorry...here, let me just..."

L watched, scowl fixed firmly on his face, as the thieving idiot pranced across the room, as happy as you please. He glared into the boy's back, ignoring the chiding Look he knew Watari was shooting him. He didn't care. The boy had stolen all his cake, and Watari had watched it happen. In his mind, the least his guardian was a good, long sulk.

The boy turned, a large plate in his small hands, topped with the most gorgeous confection he'd ever seen. Gleaming white frosting, topped with strawberries, and apricots, and peach slices, drizzled with strawberry compote. It was magnificent, and...

L blinked, his breath catching in wonder, as the boy set the plate firmly in front of him with a shy smile.

...and it was all...his..?

Wide, gray eyes locked with sparkling green. "Mr. Watari told me you liked cake, so I made sure we got extra, so that we could share."

"...share?"

The boy beamed at him, all fluffy hair and ridiculously bright eyes. "Yeah...because friends share, and we're going to be friends."

L ignored Watari's chuckle behind him, his brow furrowed in thought. Friends..? He wasn't sure what he thought of the idea. To be honest, he'd never had friends, so he wasn't sure even how to approach it, but...well. If friendship meant more cake, even if he had to share a bit with the little Cake Thief, then he supposed it wouldn't be too bad.

[end]

This is ridiculously fluffy. I have no excuses, save for one: I couldn't really see L bonding with anyone so quickly, unless there was some sort confection involved. I know the prompt didn't specify bonding, but still...I wanted this one to be less creepy than the last entry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Liar, Liar**

**Prompt by WildfireDreams: **"How about L, Light and a healthy dose of Veritaserum."

**Premise: **"_In which L has an ace up his sleeve."_

**Warnings: **Not a lot of Adult Material, but Light's Ego, and his general need to hear himself talk (even in his own head), deserves their own warnings, anyway. **UNBETA'd.**

**Notes: **I really wanted to focus more on the present than the possible back story, for this prompt. Back story shouldn't matter too much for this, but if you REALLY need to know, well...CYOC: Choose Your Own Context.

.. .. ..

Light had gone over his plans for confinement, time and time again, with great care. Every eventuality was pondered on, accounted for, in his plans. Misa...well, she was a wild card, and therefore more troublesome than she was worth, but blinded enough by her ridiculous infatuation to do as she was told. So, wild card or no, even the problems she added to the growing list that Light faced were accounted for.

Even before he entered HQ, Light knew what he'd say, how he'd act, to get what he wanted, to get L to put him behind bars. Any other time, he would have been pleased at his father's stubborn defense of his innocence, but now...he had to fight back against the urge to tell the man to just shut up, already. It was luck...or Destiny, he supposed...that L was just stubborn enough to do what he wanted, what _Light_ wanted, and lock him up, regardless of his father's denials.

Glassy eyes watched as the man, one he was sure he'd never seen before, waltzed in behind L—_Ryuzaki—_his green eyes bright and curious behind unflattering glasses. He too had a thatch of unflattering, messy black hair, was too pale to be healthy, and wore clothes that Light would be mortified to wear in public. Just like Ryuzaki, he was...unnerving, his bright eyes seeming to stare right through him, his pale lips twitching in a soft smile, like he was laughing at a joke that only he understood.

This...this...was unexpected.

Light had planned for so much, for Misa's tendency to talk, and act, without thinking, for Rem's obsessive need to protect the blonde pain-in-the-ass, for Ryuk's general incompetence. He had not, however, planned for this. L was supposed to be a single entity, isolated, with few, if any, personal connections. He was not supposed to have allies, friends who he could call in.

Amber eyes blinked sluggishly, fear making them gleam in the fluorescent lighting, as the green eyes man slowly smiled at him, his gaze darting to the empty water cup still clutched in Light's hand. He froze, glancing down at his cup, then up at the man. His hand twitched, the flimsy metal slipping from numb fingers as realization hit. He'd been drugged. Ryuzaki—fuck it, L..._L_ had _drugged_ him.

The Green-Eyed Bastard's smile widened. "Nice to meet you, Light...I _can_ call you Light, right?"

His lips trembled as he fought to hold back his response. It did no good. "I'd prefer you didn't, but you'd probably do so anyway, so feel free."

L snorted, pale eyes like lanterns behind his curtain of black bangs. Light felt his lips twist into an ugly sneer. Damn. Apparently, even his mask of geniality was beyond his reach, at the moment. Light twitched, his stomach tightening, as L and Green Eyes exchanged a telling look, sharing smiles that made them look like a pair of Cheshire Cats.

"Tell me, Light-kun," he fought, really he did, not to bare his teeth in anger at L's mocking tone, "what is Ms. Amane to you?"

"She's nothing." Green Eyes nodded, seeming to have expected the answer. L...well, he wasn't readable, at the best of times, but Light had a feeling he wasn't surprised by his answer, either.

"That's unusual, innit? I mean, she is your girlfriend, isn't she?" Green Eyes smiled at him, his expression mild. Light wasn't fooled for a moment, but was unable to stop his mouth from moving, regardless.

"No, she isn't."

"Who is she, Light-kun?" L's eyes were digging holes into his forehead, taking in every twitch, every bead of sweat.

"She is Misa Amane."

Green Eyes smiled, again, "who _else_ is she, Light?"

Brown eyes gleamed, his brows furrowing as he fought hard...so very hard...not to answer. He knew...he knew if he answered, no manner of planning would save him...not from L, not from Rem, and not from his father's fury.

"Answer me, please, Light. What other name does Misa Amane answer to?"

It was no good. He couldn't..."K-Kira. She answers to Kira."

"Thank you, Light. That's very helpful."

L smiled, and this time Light couldn't suppress the urge to flinch. The man, his pale eyes light with genuine happiness, as if he'd given him the best damn birthday present ever, smiled even brighter. His stomach turned with revulsion. He may have killed people, but he wasn't the real monster. No. L, a grin of pleasure splitting his corpse-pale face, was the real monster.

"Just a few more questions, Light-kun, then we'll be done..."

He leaned forward, uncomfortably close, and Light nearly toppled backwards off his cot, trying to get away. "Are you Kira-kun, Light-kun?"

Light's breath caught in his chest for a beat, then another, as teeth dug ruthlessly into his tongue, trying to stop the words struggling to get out. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, and he gagged. With a rasping breath, the words spilled out. "Y-yes. Yes, I-I am K-Kira."

L's triumphant smile was quick and brief, flashing across pale lips almost too quick to be seen. Then, it was gone, and he was out the door. Light blinked in astonishment. Green Eyes' gaze followed the man til he was out of sight, before meeting his. His smile, though not as unnerving as L's, was by no means kind or pleasant.

"Thank you, Light, for your cooperation. We'll continue our chat, soon..."

A tear dripped past his lid, unchecked, as the man strolled from the room, slamming the door behind him. Light tried to sneer in contempt, tried deny that this conversation meant anything. He'd been drugged, afterall...interrogated under duress. It wouldn't stick...it couldn't...

His sneer faltered, his dark eyes locking on the camera overhead, the camera that had quietly broadcasted every second, every word, for all the Task force to see...

...and he knew, without having to ask, that L and his creepy little ally had made sure that the Task force—his father, in his own cell—had watched every second of that interview.

L was Justice, but there would be none for him, for the new God of this rotten world.

L...had won.

[end]


	6. Chapter 6

**Sirius Matters**

**Prompt: **"Red and Gold"

**Premise: **"In which Mello and Matt have unexpected ties to Wizarding Britain."

**Warnings: **A bit of AU, as the characters of Matt and Mello are a bit older than canon (M and M born 1980 to L's 1979). Also: THIS might very well be the vignette where this collection earns its M rating (for language, at least). You can thank Matt AND Mello for that. Oh, and L is a jerk. **UNBETA'd.**

**Honorable Mention To: **_allietheepic7_. This short was already in the works when I received the review. So, since we seemed to be on the same page, I'm dedicating this one to you, allie.

.. .. ..

Matt blinked, squinting against the light, as his bedroom curtains were wrenched open in a fury of motion. He grunted, turning his head away in disgust, his hand scrambling across his bedside table for his goggles, his lighter, and his cigarettes.

"You know, if you'd knock it off with those goddamn goggles, you wouldn't have this problem."

The redhead ignored his roommate and sort-of best friend, lowering the tinted eyepieces deliberately over his bright green, extremely photosensitive eyes. Mello snorted, and he flashed him the two finger salute, even as he lit a cigarette and flopped back against his mattress.

"Th'fuck you doing up so early?"

"It's eleven, shit-head."

"Tha's what I said...early."

Matt hid his smirk at the disgusted twist to Mello's mouth as he flounced—yes, like a goddamn prima donna ballerina—across the room, brandishing a rolled up newspaper like a goddamn sword. Idiot.

"Read it."

"...why?"

"Because it's fucking interesting, jack ass."

A pale hand ran through mussed red locks, and he bit back a yawn. Damn, but he was exhausted. "Define interesting."

"There's an escaped convict that has Interpol going bat-shit, but the guy has nothing on file."

Matt blinked, finally rolling to face the leather-clad blonde leaning against his headboard. "But...that doesn't make sense."

A slow smirk twisted thin lips. "Yeah, which is why I said it was interesting. Some guy with no fucking record escapes from a prison nobody can name, and it's a big enough deal where the big wigs contact L to track him down?"

It took him a moment to catch the implication, which he blamed on his complete exhaustion. "You...you fuckin used my computer to hack L's email, again."

Matt watched, eyes narrowed, as his friend shifted, not looking guilty, per se, but more...uncomfortable. "Well, it's not like you were using it at the time—"

"Goddamn it, Mello! Roger'll throw a wobbly, if he finds out. He already took my other one, because of you."

"It's not that big of a deal. L knows we wouldn't—"

Matt struggled to sit up, scowl firmly fixed on his face. "It doesn't fucking matter if L knows we wouldn't compromise him. You think he fucking _cares_? You know what he's like."

Mello frowned, looking away from Matt's scowl.

. . .

_Harry...or, well, Matt, he supposed...blinked wide, bespectacled eyes up at L, all long limbs, dark hair, and wide, tired eyes. He exchanged a quick glance with the blonde at his side...Draco, he'd called himself._

"_Matt and...Mello?" The gentleman at L's side looked at the older boy, taking in the smirk twisting thin lips as a long-fingered hand mussed a thatch of black hair._

"_Doormat and Mellow-Yellow, of course. Please try to keep up, Watari."_

_He flinched, almost as if he'd been slapped, but stayed quiet. Rule Number One of life with the Dursleys, after all, had always been Don't Talk Back...oh, and Don't Ask Questions. Harr—er, Matt was pretty sure Mr. Watari wouldn't slap him, but he couldn't really speak for L. He seemed like the kind of person who'd hit, or bite, if you made him angry._

_He felt Draco...no, Mello...shift at his side, fists clenching. He reached out, grabbing at a thin wrist. Green met silvan-blue, and he shook his head. The blonde, still scowling, turned his red face away, but at least didn't get in trouble for talking back, like he'd been obviously planning to._

_Matt watched, a frown pulling his mouth into a pout, as L slumped out of the room, the mean smirk twisting his lips, as if he was so goddamn funny._

_What a jerk._

_. . ._

Matt sighed, took one last drag off his cigarette, and ashed it on his bedside table, which bore countless scars from previous cigarettes. "Who's the unlucky bastard, then?"

A curtain of blonde whipped around a pale, narrow face as Mello turned to look at him. Matt rose an eyebrow, challengingly. "Well, we're already fucked once L finds out, so we might as well just go with it. So..."

Mello flashed him a smile that was more smug grin than anything. "From what I could dig up, the guy was accused of mass murder, but...they don't have any victims listed. The only mass death that really matches up with the time line they put out for his "murder spree" was supposedly caused by a fucking gas explosion."

Matt tsked, waving his hand impatiently til Mello slapped the rolled up newspaper into his hand. There was silence for a moment as he unfurled the paper and took in the headline.

"Sirius Black, huh..?"

[end]


	7. Chapter 7

**Fallen**

**Prompt: **"A very different Harry."

**Premise: **_"__...in which Harry is a Light fan-boy."_

**Warnings: **This is a "Harry-is-(a male version of) Misa" fic, so if implied romantic attachment between two males isn't your thing, then feel free to skip this one. Also, I regret NOTHING. Constructive Criticism is welcome. Flames will be ignored and/or reported, depending on content. Fair warning. **UNBETA'd.**

**. . . . .**

Before he was even old enough for primary school, Harry'd had scores of old ladies in unflattering paisley house dresses telling him how precious he was, with his "angel face" and "those lovely eyes." Aunt Petunia had hated him for it, of course, bitter and jealous that it was he, and not her own precious child, that earned all the cooing praise from her would-be social peers.

Harry had ignored her foul words, her temper, her sneers, for all the good it did him. The more praise he earned for his "sweet face" and "genteel manners," the louder her criticisms became. Honestly, if he were inclined towards combativeness, he would have been tempted to rage at the harpy, call her out for her transparent acts of jealousy.

However, Harry wasn't combative, and hadn't called her out. He simply smiled and continued on, as if he was unaffected by her petty cruelty and her pitiful acts of jealousy.

Despite his best attempts at congeniality, and politeness, and good behavior, she'd won, in the end. The praises that had fallen so easily from those old ladies' lips dried up as the rumors spread...the rumors about what a little heathen he was, about how long-suffering his poor aunt and uncle were for putting up with such a deviant. It was a hard lesson for him to learn so young, that being good wasn't always a guarantee that you'd come out on top.

After a while, Harry surprise and upset at this traumatic paradigm shift faded, gentled, into reluctant admiration. For all her small-minded pettiness, his aunt could be remarkably, brilliantly devious when she felt slighted. This lesson, like the last, was one that stuck with him, even though he didn't quite know what to do with it.

Years passed, and Harry watched. He watched his aunt wield her insincere smile, her simpering wit, like a well-sharpened blade. He watched as this woman—this boring, average woman—maneuver and manipulate like a grand chess master. He watched it all, and he took it in, quietly soaking it all in like a sponge.

For a while, he contented himself with quietly watching his aunt, learning to wield gossip, and a genteel sort of idiocy like the weapons they could be. He wasn't happy, true, but this life was better than before, without the harshly whispered condemnations of the neighbors that had once showered him in praises.

Then, puberty hit, and the murmurs started up again. This time, they poured in in droves, despite his aunt's snide remarks, and pointed implications that he was a "fiend," or a "deviant," and possibly—worst of all, in her mind— "_THAT_ sort of boy." Harry hadn't blinked at the implication, mostly because he truly had no opinion on it either way—he was nine, after all, and not at all interested in that sort of thing. Still, even with the undertone of scandal coloring the praises, they continued to pour in, and his aunt seemed to hate him all the more for it.

It was only when his 11th birthday came to pass, as unremarkable as any other, that things changed for Harry. It was odd, really, to see the shift in his so-called family. It was almost as if they'd been waiting for something to happen, and when it hadn't, it was as if Harry had finally proven his worth.

Only then did Aunt Petunia stop sneering at the praises, and start giving him these long, considering looks.

Only then did Aunt Petunia turn her own simpering smiles at him, quietly encouraging him to use his charm to garner favors and further praise from the most influential in the neighborhood.

Though he was no longer invisible, neither was he berated or scorned. Instead, he was praised and encouraged, pampered and cooed at.

It was odd, but not unpleasant.

Then, when he was thirteen, his aunt took him to the city, looking as proud as a peacock in full display as she walked him through the door of Great Britain's premiere modeling agency.

. . .

Harry ruffled his platinum locks for what felt like the millionth time in an hour. He was bored, and would rather be doing anything else than looking over his latest bit of publicity. With a sigh, he turned his dispassionate gaze towards the Teen Magazine featuring his latest shoot, silently critiquing his every pose, as well as the horribly heavy make-up and leather he'd been forced into for this particular shoot.

He bit back a wince at the neon pink header, declaring love for the new "Idol," Mizue.

It was times like these that Harry was honestly surprised by the brilliance of his agent. He wouldn't have thought to use a pseudonom, if left to his own devices. Even after all this time, he was still too straight-forward to consider that a model called "Harry" would sell less Idol Magazines than one called "Mizue."

Sue him, but he liked to think his fans were smart enough to know that they were being lied to. Maybe that was naïve of him—his agent sure thought so, with the way she'd laughed the first and only time he'd expressed that opinion.

Harry—damn it all, Mizue (he'd be stuck with that name for as long as he was in Japan, so should fucking use it) dropped the magazine in disgust, not even bothering with the gushing interview that reeked of Industry Ass Kissing.

It was no use. He was too distracted.

He flopped back onto his bed with a pout. "I'm so bored~!"

His hair rustled on his pillow as the Shinigami slid soundlessly towards his bed. "If you focused on your work, you'd be less bored, Mizue."

He pouted, his cheeks puffing out in what he knew was a ridiculous pout. "You're no fun, Rem."

The Shinigami said nothing, and his pout deepened. Honestly, it wasn't his fault that he was distracted. It was just—it had been so hard to focus since he'd found HIM, his Precious Kira.

To be honest, Kira hadn't really registered with him, at first. He was busy, more often than not, what with photo shoots, and interviews, and contract meetings, and so on. Of course, he'd seen the websites and heard the murmurs, but they were background noises, mostly...that is, until he'd done what Mizue couldn't.

Kira avenged him.

There were no words for his gratitude, his unwavering thanks. It was only then that the dusty little notebook Rem had given him all those years ago finally came out of hiding. It was only then that he'd finally said yes to all those softly murmured offers of the Shinigami Eyes. After all, what was half a life time when he could be working to help his most beloved Savior?

In the end, it was those same magnificent eyes that had allowed him to find his Most Precious One. Kira. Yagami Tsuki.*

He'd been so happy to see him, wandering Aoyama, a boy not too much younger than he was, and so friendly, so handsome, to boot. If he was being honest with himself, Ha—Mizue could admit he fell in love a little bit that day.

Ha...Mizue wanted, no...needed to see him again, to talk to him, but he wasn't sure where to start. It wasn't that he didn't know how to look him up on the computer, but he wasn't sure how Kira would react to meeting him. After all, he hadn't seemed too pleased about the messages that he'd left for him on Sakura TV. Silly spoil-sport Kira.

Even so, he needed to meet him soon, if only to thank him. He owed his savior that much, at least, for taking it out the beast that murdered his aunt, uncle, and wretch of a cousin. He may not have particularly liked them all the time, but nobody deserved what that monster had done to them.

...so much blood.

He shivered, shoving away the memory of the carnage.

His lips pressed together in a stubborn frown, as he slowly rolled off his bed. It was time. For the sake of his sanity, his career, he couldn't afford to wait any longer.

He was going to find his Kira.

. . .

Mizue shifted anxiously, trying not to let His Savior's charming mother and little sister see just how nervous he was. They could never know, understand, just how much this meeting meant for him. So, he put on his Professional Smile, laughing when little Sayu laughed, and chatting with her over his latest photo shoots as they slowly climbed the stairs towards His room.

He could hear the quiet shuffle of feet headed towards the door, and he held his breath in anticipation. Then, he saw His face, looking adorable in his polite confusion. Mizue didn't blame the boy, honestly, he was sure he was a sight, what with his white-blonde hair and all the leather. He bit back a delighted laugh at the boy's expense, as he was sure he wouldn't appreciate such a thing.

"Hello, Yagami-kun~! I came to return your notebook!"

He watched, stomach fluttering in ecstatic glee, as realization spread over those pretty features. Kira smiled. "Won't you come in?"

Mizue felt a smile spread across his lips slowly as he watched the brunette slowly shut his bedroom door behind him.

[end]

***Light/Raito's name is spelled with the Kanji for Moon, "Tsuki."**


	8. Chapter 8

**S.P.K. (Stupidly Pretentious K...er, Code-names)**

**Premise: **"Near meets his heterosexual life partner in the search for Kira"

**Prompt by ****_allietheepic7: _**"What about a Harry that the U.S. recruited for Near's team?"

**Disclaimer: **An AU/EWE that presupposes Near and Harry are of an age (19). **UNBETA'd.**

**Author's Note: **Yes, I know I haven't posted ANYTHING for a while. I am a grown-ass woman with grown-ass woman real world obligations, so I won't say sorry so much as just get on with this.

. . .

Harry bit back a yawn as the President droned on and on...and on...and...on. Honestly, he understood perfectly that this mission was of the utmost importance, and a way to bridge the gap between the British Magical Community and the American Muggle Government. He understood what was at stake, and why code names and paranoia the likes of which would have surprised even Mad Eye.

He got it.

He wasn't the youngest Auror in a Century for no goddamn reason, after all.

That didn't make it any easier to listen to the President's self-important blustering after spending a solid 48 hours in transit.

"...along with our liason, Giovanni. Can I count on your aid, Auror Potter?"

Harry blinked back a yawn, his lips stretching into a bland smile. All that blustering just to confirm what his boss and the President had already confirmed via contract? Honestly, if this was indicative of the general competence of the American government, it was really no surprise that they'd all but fallen to a single bloke on a power trip.

"Of course, sir. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get settled in at HQ." _So, can you wrap this up please, you overblown sack of incompetence _went unsaid, but if Giovanni's quiet cough was any indication, the undertone had not gone unnoticed.

Well, fuck.

They hadn't hired him for his tact, so if they didn't like his inability to kiss their overly-politicized asses, they could blow it out said arses.

The President's vapid smile and hearty hand-shake was both reassuring and disappointing: reassuring that his disregard hadn't been noted, and utterly disappointing that such an idiot was going to be his "Big Boss" for however long he was stuck States-side.

Harry couldn't turn tail and leave quickly enough. He didn't even care that he had no fucking clue where he was going. He just needed a goddamn shower and a carafe of caffeine...tea, coffee, whatever he could get his hands on. Sleep could wait til he was briefed.

A subtle tug on the starched arm of his brand new suit had him turning to meet the dark, amused gaze of his new liaison and compatriot. "Garage is this way."

"Hn."

"We'll stop for coffee on the way; you're going to need it."

A quirked eyebrow. Snape would be proud...or he'd roll over in his grave. Either was possible, but Harry wouldn't put money on the first.

"We have to catch a flight out to New York. You'll be briefed there, then we'll get you settled."

Harry bit back the blue streak fighting to break free from his chapped lips. "...you mean to tell me they flew me out to D.C. to talk at me for three hours, just to put me on another plane?"

"Yes." Giovanni's lips twitched, like the pretty-faced bastard found this funny.

This time, he didn't fight back the urge to curse. "That's fucking stupid, that's what that is."

"Yes, but then, politics is often 'fucking stupid.' You get used to it."

Harry snorted.

"Luckily, Near isn't stupid. Quite the opposite. So that's something, then, right?"

Harry shrugged. '_Near,_' _huh?_

_.. .. .._

He stared into the abyss, and the abyss stared back...and rose to his feet, shuffling forward til he was way too close.

When Harry had heard he would be working with a legitimate genius, he wasn't sure what to expect. Honestly, after so many years around the likes of Dumbledore and Hermione (and, yes, Snape, too), he had given up presuming to know anything about anything, when it came to what to expect from genii. Even so, the tall, gangly bloke, his white hair a mess that rivaled his own, was definitely not on the list of things he had been expecting.

"Harry Potter?"

He nodded. "Near?" The young man smiled blandly, his eyes impressively blank.

"I imagine the President has told you about what we're trying to do here?"

"Yes...and at length."

Another smile, more coldly amused than bland, this time. "Yes. For an idiot, the man can certainly talk at great length."

He snorted. "Rambling idiots aside, I'd much rather hear from you what we're going to be doing here."

Near nodded, hunching as he turned on his heel to shuffle towards a tower of...were those...playing cards?

Harry blinked, taking in the spanning city scape seemingly built out of a mishmash of varying playing decks, as well as the Major Arcana from multiple Tarot decks.

"We'll get to that in a minute. For now, coffee?" Harry blinked as, with a flick of his hand, a man in shades stepped out of the shadows with a cart full of hot pasties, treacle tart and a carafe of steaming coffee.

Harry felt his lips tugging up into a smile. Well, hell. He might actually learn to like this creepy bastard.

[end]


	9. Chapter 9

**To Raito A Wrong**

**Prompt by ****_KainVixenheim_****: **"Can we have a 'Harry is L'? And maybe a 'Harry is called in as a specialist when L decides magic is used in the Kira Case'? Or even (as you have just shown you aren't too opposed to slash) a 'Harry x L' thing?"

**Premise: **"A Trope With A Twist"

**Disclaimer: **AU elements; sort-of-not-really continuation of the "Harry-as-Light" thing; implications of romantic feelings and/or intentions between two male characters; implied hand-cuff shenanigans; lighthearted as fuck. **UNBETA'd.**

. . .

Raito blinked, fighting a flush as L...Ryuzaki...leaned forward, nearly close enough for his lips to brush the bridge of his nose.

"Raito-kun has an unusual scar."

He blinked, nonplussed. Of all the things...

"Well, yes."

"Does Raito-kun know how he received such an unusual mark?" The question was innocent enough, but the undertone of _was it Kira _was obvious.

He didn't bother to hide it when he rolled his eyes. Honestly, with how the obnoxious panda carried on, you'd think everything, from clogged toilets to scraped knees could be attributed to the heinous killer.

"I've had it for as long as I remember. My dad said I had it when he found me."

He ignored the dark eyes boring into the side of his face, cursing as the heat of a blush rose from his chest, up his neck, suffusing his face with warmth. Hell, even his ears felt hot.

How mortifying.

Now, had he had such a reaction to Misa, well...it would be unfortunate (because Misa, looks aside, was really no prize), but he'd at least understand it.

This...this he could never, ever understand. L was a slob and a pervert, with no regard for anyone other than himself. Not to mention his none-too-subtle sadistic streak.

The less said about his interrogation techniques, the better.

"...Raito-kun is adopted."

L...damn it all, Ryuzaki's voice jarred him momentarily out of his embarrassment.

"Yes...I thought you knew? It's public record."

"Hn."

At long last, Ryuzaki returned to his perch in his chair, leaving Raito to slump in his seat. A dry, unfamiliar laugh—hell, he hadn't even known the man could laugh—startled him. "67 percent."

He blinked, but not out of confusion. He'd been hearing those damn percentages long enough not to ask for clarification. So, no, he wasn't confused...more shocked. Just yesterday, after inadvertently drinking the last of the coffee, his percentage had spiked up to a startling 98 percent...to be dropped 31 percent in a span of 16 hours was...unusual.

"...Ryuzaki?"

The man's lips quirked, his hooded eyes drifting lazily across his face (...aaaand, there went the blush again, god damn it all). "It's simple, Raito-kun. As likely as it is that you are, in fact, Kira-kun, I find it hard to believe that a mass murderer would develop a crush on the lead investigator."

Raito could only gape at the smug detective. Normally, he'd have a million and one come-backs at the ready for every thing L could think of to say to him. Normally, he could laugh off any silly innuendo tossed his direction.

This wasn't 'normally,' because, well, maybe he did, in fact...perhaps...have some sort of weird crush on L. As unlikely as that was.

He sat forward in his seat, careful not to look at L as he took a sip from his cup of tea. His thoughts lay scattered like so many of Misa's shiny hair bobbles. He knew he should gather himself and give a snappy retort, but...well..._how embarrassing_.

"Raito-kun has nothing to say? How surprising...65 percent."

His lips twisted into a moue of distaste. "Of course I'm not saying anything, Ryuzaki. I didn't think anything so ridiculous dignified a response."

"Raito-kun's blush suggests it isn't so ridiculous a postulation."

"...and your presumption belies an ego that is dangerous for one in your profession."

A moment of silence, and Raito considered it a well-earned victory, even if it meant an increase in his Kira percentages. His fingers had barely wrapped around the delicate handle of the tea cup when he felt an almighty tug on the heavy chain connecting him to Ryuzaki.

If asked, he'd say that he cried out in startled dismay. He pointedly ignored Matsuda's gleeful chortles over his "adorable little squeal."

The cup met the floor with a crash that was muffled by the loud protesting of his chair as it toppled. Raito twisted, bracing for a fall, his fists clenched in preparation to lash out at Ryuzaki, as he found himself doing more often than not when the man felt combative. He did not expect for spindly fingers to wrap around his biceps, vice-tight, and yank him practically into the owner's lap. He did not expect Ryuzaki to all but head-butt him as he slammed his thin, cold lips against his. He did not expect the sharp teeth of the detective to dig into the soft flesh of his lip as they both went toppling back, hitting the tile with a bone-jarring thud.

Raito rolled gracelessly from his sprawl atop Ryuzaki, flopping awkwardly onto his back. The room was silent, and he knew that the others—his father included—were staring. He couldn't be bothered with that right now. Not when he was trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Ryuzaki had kissed him. KISSED him.

L let out another of his strange, breathy laughs that seemed so odd coming from the stoic man. "Raito-kun is a liar."

"...what the hell are you talking about?"

"Raito-kun does have a crush. I admit that I am flattered."

Without even turning to look at the smug man, he swung his arm towards his face, smirking as his loosely balled fist met the other's nose with a meaty thud.

[end]


	10. Chapter 10

**God In The Machine (er, Subway)**

**Prompt by ****_allietheepic7: _**"Harry and Mikami talk while on the train. Harry immediately regrets his decision to vacation in Japan."

**Premise: **"In which the 'Master of Death' bullshit proves to be less bullshit than previously imagined."

**Warnings: **Mikami being Mikami, and Harry's No More Fucks To Give attitude. As with all my other prompts, this one is **UNBETA'D.**

**Disclaimer: **Don't Own, so Don't Sue. Please and Thank You.

. . .

Harry knew that he had rotten luck. Really, he did.

Even if his self-awareness had been all but non-existent, after so many years fighting the baddies, dodging assassination attempts by sociopaths with delusions of grandeur, and barely escaping his groupies with his clothing—and virtue—intact, he would have cottoned on to the fact that he had the worst fucking luck.

Potter Luck wasn't a joke; it was a very real Thing.

Still, he had assumed he'd left the worst of it behind after he'd offed ole no-nose. Apparently, he'd been mistaken. There was no other explanation as to how he could have picked now—in the midst of the Kira fervor—to travel to Japan...ground zero, as it were.

He shifted in his seat, the hard plastic unforgiving as the train zipped through the subways. He tried to ignore the admittedly attractive young man across from him as he continued to stare at his hair, all the while babbling in a mix of Japanese and English about Kira.

Kira is God.

Kira is doing good.

Kira is Justice.

...

Fuck Kira. Fuck Kira in the fucking _EAR_.

The young man—Miichi? Mitsuru? No...Mikami!—blinked, his mouth snapping shut. _Well, fuck me. _Apparently, his whole "speaking while thinking" problem was still a very real problem. At least it gave him a moment to think in peace.

The man continued to stare...and stare...and stareeeee. Harry edged back a bit. The young man didn't even appear to be blinking, was a bit more disturbing than the hair-ogling had been.

"Look...I get that you think Kira is here to save you, what with him targeting criminals and all that, but...you can't eradicate violence with violence. The world doesn't work like that. Sure, the criminals are dying off or going into hiding FOR NOW, but as soon as there's a lapse—and there will be, sooner or later—they are going to come out of the woodwork again. In fact, it will probably be worse, since Kira is probably pissing a lot of people off." Harry didn't even notice the stare shifting to a glare as he continued, "ALSO, it's a bit fucking hypocritical for the bloke preaching an end to terrorism and murder using terror and murder to achieve his goal!"

He slumped back into his seat to catch his breath, trying to ignore the wide-eyed staring from the other patrons. As for the young man, he was hunched over his lap, scribbling in a notepad furiously, while darting glances at his hair again. Ah, well. There was nothing for that.

After a long moment and an unnecessarily dramatic flourish, Mikami stopped his scribbling and sat back in his seat...and did the whole staring thing again. A minute passed, then another...then another. The man continued to stare, tensing as the train slowed to a stop for the next exit. Harry watched, curiously, as sweat began to bead his brow, his eyes bugging as Harry continued to sit, quietly watching a young mother and her sons disembark, and an old woman shuffle on board.

The doors slid closed, and the train was off again.

Mikami was trembling in his seat, his mouth gaping as he panted for breath, his eyes bugging out. Was he...having a fit? Harry hesitated to reach out, not out of a desire to let him suffer, but because he honestly didn't want want to be within striking distance of the man.

A low, trembling moan rattled up the young man's chest, startling him and the other passengers. Mikami staggered to his feet, swaying as he continued to moan. His notebook tumbled from his lap, forgotten, as he tugged at his hair, screaming incoherently about Gods in the Flesh, and Monsters, and Betrayal.

As suddenly as he started, he stopped screaming, falling to his knees weakly. Harry flinched, startled, as Mikami shuffled forward til his forehead touched his knees. "_Kami-sami, Kami-sama...gomennasai, watashi wo yurushite kudasai! _FORGIVE ME!"

With a trembling hand, he snatched up his notebook, pushing it into Harry's hands in a strangely earnest move. "Please, forgive me, God...my True God."

Harry knew he was gaping, but could do fuck all about it. He wanted to stand up and shove his way off the goddamn train, regardless of it being in motion; he'd be happy to apparate from the tracks, if need be. He wanted to tell the guy to get a fucking hold of himself, and for God's sake stop touching him, but didn't want to trigger another breakdown.

He wanted to do all this and more, but couldn't find the will to move or the words to say as a cackling met his ears.

_Hyuk Hyuk Hyuk. "You humans are so...interesting."_

…

Fuck his life. Fuck this fucking vacation.

Hermione was right; Cornwall was lovely this time of year. At least he wouldn't have had to deal with this shit there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Curiosity Killed the Horcrux**

**Prompt by ****_SleepyMangaHead_****: **"I have a prompt for a continuation of Chapter 9. Where L finds out Raito actually isn't Kira but his insane split personality (Tom Riddle) is. Of course Raito (Harry) is still as smart as canon Raito, but without being a megalomanic or even knowing about Tom. And as a strange prompt for a continuation of that canon, Dumbledore gets proven right about the power of love when Tom Riddle is exorcised by L and Raito having sex."

**Author's Note: **First of all, I want to say thank you for putting so much thought into the prompt. It makes me think you are enjoying these little ficlets of mine. Secondly, since these prompts are intended to be for One-Shots, I don't think I'll be able to cover everything this prompt entails, but will try to incorporate what I can into the one-shot I have planned for this.

**Premise: **"In Which Lord Voldemort Finally Feels Regret"

**Warnings: **More-than-Slightly on the cracky side (see: death of Horcrux by implied L/Raito boning), implied voyeurism of said boning, boning-as-a-headache-cure, general shenanigans. **UNBETA'D.**

**Disclaimer: **As always, I own nothing of either of these properties. This is a means for me to write and do things while taking a break from other fics, or RL writing projects (**cough **_Project Death Sparkle_ on WordPress **cough**).

. . .

When he had heard tell from Wormtail that the Potter boy was missing and presumed dead, he had been furious. Not because his enemy was, in fact, out of his way, but because he knew better, and was furious his servants were so useless as to not have figured it out on their own.

Seventeen years. The boy had been allowed to run around, unchecked, for seventeen _years, _because he supposedly loyal servants were too lazy, or too cowardly, to investigate the matter without prompting.

It went without saying that those too lazy were made examples of...he had no use for sloppy servants. The cowards were punished, but spared. Cowardice, at least, could be molded into obedience. Even so, the fury burned.

These were the supposed best of the best, the richest and most influential of the Pure-bloods—members of the Sacred 28, for the most part—and they hadn't thought to use magic to verify the brat's death.

It was enough to drive one mad.

Still, if what he suspected was true about the night he'd been temporarily banished, he had other means to track the boy.

He closed his eyes, opened his mind, and searched...

…

sweat-slicked skin—pale and bare—appeared before him like a mirage. It was hard to understand what he was seeing at first, til the bare figure stepped closer.

Hair...short, dark, wiry...dominated his vision, and...was that..? What was the boy...?

_Merlin and Morgana, WHAT HAD HE DONE?_

Regret, like he'd never felt, raged through him. Regret that he hadn't killed the boy first time. Regret that he'd not been harsher in his punishments of his servants. Regret that he'd chosen this particular method of tracking the nuisance. Regret.

Overwhelming, overpowering, all-encompassing.

He jerked, something snapping back into place.

He felt a little more whole, but could not spare the energy to think on it now.

For now, he needed a drink…

. . .

Raito tried to ignore the blush creeping up his neck as L perched next to him on their mussed bed, unashamedly naked and sweat-slicked. "Does Raito-kun still have his headache, or have I succeeded in curing it?"

Considering what said "cure" had entailed, he was hard pressed not to flush an even darker red. Even so, there was...something...that was different. A lightness, maybe, that he hadn't felt before, like he'd been living his whole life under a weight that had suddenly been lifted.

"You were right...the headache's gone."

L smirked, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Raito blanched. "That doesn't mean you have carte blanche to accost me every time I have a headache in the future. We need to get some work done, and my father..."

A thin finger pressed to his lips. "Raito-kun protests too much, I think. You like it when I accost you."

"That's not how that quote goes, and that's beside the point. We're in the middle of an investigation—!"

He squeaked as L's hand wrapped around his—well, anyway, his hand was doing things that they had no business doing before he was recovered enough to fully appreciate them. "Are you a goddamn machine, Ryuzaki?! We just—"

"It's time for Raito-kun to shut up now." L leaned forward to press his thin lips to his.

"...shutting up."

What followed was...well, frankly nobody's business but theirs, and left him with a persistent blush for the next three weeks.


	12. Chapter 12

**Fan-boys, Cake Junkies, and Other Problems**

**Prompt by ****_Lulzlullylulz: _**"I would like to see a continuation of chapter 10 where Harry decides to continue his vacation in Japan, weirdos and regret aside, and to his utmost misfortune meets Misa, Light, L and Matsuda. Bonus if upon his return to England, he comes across L's heirs."

**Premise: **"In which Harry marvels at the fact that the weird ones ALWAYS find him. Always..."

**Author's Note (Please Read): **Thanks so much for the continued support and prompts. However, so that I don't get burned out writing these (as they are supposed to be a cure for burn out, not the cause of it), I kindly request _new _prompts from now on_. _I might eventually be open to doing continuations for _other_ prompts, but am feeling very burned out on Harry-as-Raito, so will not be continuing that one any further. Feel free to continue that premise on your own, if you'd like. All I ask is that you send me a link, so I can read it.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own a damn thing from these properties. If I did, I could sell my drama queen of a car, get a new one, and probably afford rent closer to San Diego, on top of that. **UNBETA'd.**

…

It took him three hours, some impressive gymnastics his back didn't thank him for, and one too many close encounters with strangers before he finally managed to dodge Mikami. Of course, that left Harry riding the orange line to who-the-fuck-knows-where during commute hours.

Needless to say, he had a better appreciation for the plight of canned sardines, and was not looking forward to repeating the experience, ever again. Even if he had to apparate half-blind, or pay out the nose for a taxi, he was not taking another train.

He emerged...somewhere. All he could tell is that it was central-ish, and had a crowd of squealing onlookers babbling rapid-fire, gesturing at some local actress as she pretended to swoon for the camera. Harry snorted, giving the girls a wide arc as he crossed the street. Of course, since the Potter Luck hadn't screwed him over enough today, he managed all but two steps before a tall, rather plain looking man with puppy eyes plowed into him, spilling coffee all down his front.

"_Gomen, gomen!"_

"Er...it's fine, really." Harry waved him off, swatting at the man's hands as he got a little too personal with his handful of napkins for his comfort.

"Oh, er...sorry." The man's voice rang with an earnestness that made him think of Neville.

"It's fine, just...where can I get cleaned up?"

"Uh...OH! Let me just..." He fumbled with his phone, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he dialed.

Harry shifted, wincing as the coffee continued to drip down the inside of his trousers. "Hey, er...Ryuzaki? I kind of spilled coffee over—uh huh. No, I wanted to use the car to—uh huh. But—oh, OK."

The brunette blinked, the dial tone ringing loudly in the silence. "If you don't mind waiting, I can get us a ride to where you're staying. I just...I'm her manager," he gestured to the swooning diva, "and need to wait til break to let her know I'm leaving."

He bit back a sigh. "Really, it's fine..."

"No, no! It'll be just a minute, I promise!" Staring into those earnest eyes was like looking into the eyes of a baby unicorn. No matter how uncomfortable he was, turning this man down when he was looking at him like that would be like kicking a unicorn colt...wrong on too many levels to count.

…

Five minutes and a squidgy pair of socks later, the blonde bounced to their side, all smiles and sunshine. Harry ignored the sparkles, if only because he'd seen one too many goddamn weird things today to want to have to think about why a seemingly non-magical human being was surrounded by a halo of twinkles.

"Misa-Misa, this is my friend...er?"

He bit back a snort. "Harry. Nice to meet you."

Misa-Misa (and who names their daughter that, honestly) beamed at him, practically bouncing in place. "Nice to meet you! Are you one of Misa-Misa's fans? I'm super flattered, but already in love with My Raito, and cannot be seen with another man."

…

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He bit back a laugh, but barely. Had Luna or Hermione or even Ginny said that, he could have been certain it was a joke. With this girl, he kind of doubted it, so instead ignored her, and turned back to the fidgeting bloke.

"So, about that ride?"

"OH, sorry!" He turned to the blonde, who was giving him an odd look, "Misa-Misa, I need to leave real quick to take Harry back to his hotel, but I'll be back before you're done, alright?"

"Whatever, Matsu~! Bring me back some more coffee!"

"S-Sure, Misa-Misa! Be back soon!" The man stumbled as he made his way back to his side, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Harry winced. He wasn't sure how this seemingly decent guy got stuck with that nightmare, but he had his sincerest sympathies.

. . .

After the longest, hottest shower he had had in recent memory, Harry had fallen into bed face-first. He debated, long and hard, whether to grab his shite and grab the nearest port-key home. In the end, exhaustion won out.

. . .

"Harry-kun, was it?"

He wasn't sure what to make of the man who...crouched in the seat across from him, stealing a pastry off his plate even as he delicately set about making the most cloying cuppa in the history of mass-produced tea.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"You may call be Ryuzaki."

"Alright, Ryuzaki. Was there something you wanted?"

The man blinked at him, his brow furrowing as his wide eyes burned a hole in his forehead. Great, another bloke with a straring problem. After a moment, he finally spoke, but without bothering to answer his goddamn question. "I believe you met my...friend...Matsu last evening."

"Yes, and?"

"You told him the most interesting story about a Mikami."

"Wait, how—"

"I have my resources. Now answer the question."

He felt his patient fraying. "First of all, you didn't _ask_ me anything yet. Secondly, you've failed to answer _my_ question—what do you _want_?"

"I want to know if this was the man you spoke to." Ryuzaki slid a grainy photo of the man from the train across the table toward him. Harry wasn't sure what to feel about the fact that this frankly bizarre man having CCTV photos of random people on hand, but was sure he didn't want to know, as he wasn't here to get involved in any of this shit.

"Yes. Why, does it matter?"

"It might very well," he stared some more, his eyes never straying an inch, even as he sipped at his tea-like sludge, even as he ate the pilfered pastry. "Very well, let us be off."

Harry pushed back in his seat. "Us? There's no us. You are just some strange man who stole my breakfast."

"There will be plenty of pastries where we're going."

"I'm not going any—" There was a a sharp blow at the back of his head, and then nothing.

. . .

Waking up after being knocked out was never pleasant, less so when you awoke to a stranger all but crouching over you, his pale face uncomfortably close. "You...knocked me out?"

"It was necessary—"

"The hell! You knocked me out!"

The glare was surprisingly fierce coming from such a spindly fucker. "Don't interrupt me." Harry scoffed, his scorn turning to shock when the man pinched him...PINCHED HIM...in the arm. "As I was saying, it was necessary that we continue our conversation in absolute privacy, so I—"

"So you kidnapped me, you utter shite." Harry caught the thin fingers before they could pinch him again. "Are you a child? Stop pinching me."

"Stop interrupting me."

"Then stop giving me reason to! You illegally kidnapped me because you wanted to _talk_? Honestly."

"Kidnapping, Ryuzaki? Isn't that a bit much? You could have just explained why you needed to know about Mikami."

Harry glanced at the young man who'd interrupted them—tall, brunette, with honest-to-goodness doe eyes. "Raito-kun needs to be quiet, before he give too much away."

"Ryuzaki-san needs to stop being ridiculous, before he lands us in the middle of a lawsuit."

He felt his mouth pull into a smirk. "He has a point, you know. It would be within my rights. I'm sure Japan doesn't want an international incident on their hands."

Ryuzaki frowned for a long minute, before finally letting him sit up. Harry didn't even bother to look around. He didn't care about the décor, the color of the walls, or the view from the window. All he wanted was to be on his way. He stretched, eyeing the pouting man as he glared unhappily at a plate of cake. He was like a toddler in the middle of a silent strop.

"Look...I don't know this Mikami. I'd never met him before. He had been staring at my hair and ranting about Kira, and I sort of ended up telling him how stupid I thought it was that he was worshiping a mass-murderer. He flipped out, starting babbling about god, and end up following me around til I managed to ditch him. That's all I can tell you about him."

"Hm." The weird man was still frowning, but looked more thoughtful, now. "Very well. You are free to go."

Harry rolled his eyes, giving the kid a wave as he left the room. He almost tripped when he finally noticed the pair of cuffs and the long chain, but didn't stop, didn't turn around, didn't ask. It wasn't his business. Not. At. All.

Honestly, he just wanted to be home already. He missed his local offy and their cheap dunhill's. He felt in desperate need for some nicotine.

. . .

15 hours of travel, jet lag, and a newly-purchased pack of cigarettes later, Harry was breathing deep, all put dancing in joy to be home.

"Hey..?"

A spindly red-head in goggles smiled at him flatly, gesturing with his own cigarette. "Can I get a light?"

Harry blinked, but shrugged. Moral Crusader Harry could wait to rear his head another day. He wasn't going to bother today. "Sure, kid."

The red-head's blonde shadow gnawed on a Cadbury's, and Harry's stomach growled loudly. He could really go for a curry.

"Thanks."

"Cheers."

Another stomach grumble, and he was off. There was a Chicken Tikka calling his name, and he'd be rude not to answer.


End file.
